confessions of a prom queen

If you haven't yet, be sure to check out my disclaimer.

In my post about sitting with my younger self, I mentioned judging teenage me. If you're up for it, I'd like to explore that a wee bit more. (Why, yes, my therapist did prompt me to think about it — what makes you ask?)

First, some context. I'll start by ripping off a band-aid: I was named prom queen in high school.

Ugh, typing that feels stupid, self-absorbed, icky. But, before I go any further, please know I bring it up for a reason.

Because, even though it happened a while ago and feels silly to revisit, parts of me still (begrudgingly) carry it today.

In my mind, that moment symbolizes more than a sparkly tiara (although I do love sparkles); it represents the peak of an upbringing in which I learned to abandon myself for the approval of others — especially those closest to me.